


rose water

by andnowforyaya



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jesus,” Youngjae said, laughing, “you trying to kill yourself?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know if you think there's anything else that should be tagged.

Daehyun held his breath underwater for as long as he could, until his lungs were nothing but fire and his blood had started singing in his ears. Air escaped from his nostrils and from between his lips, bubbles rising rapidly to the surface and breaking at the top. His eyes were closed so he couldn’t see them, but he felt himself fading and wondered, as always, what he’d find on the other side of consciousness. He didn’t want to die, only toyed with the idea like a cat might toy with a mouse before pouncing and snapping its delicate neck. It intrigued him. There was a sort of perfection in it, and he’d always strived for perfection. Death was inevitable; it would happen sooner or later, and the days were becoming more and more that Daehyun flirted with ‘sooner.’

He felt himself being drawn up and out of the water, and when his head broke the surface, he opened his mouth and gulped in huge breaths of sweet air, almost choking on it. He spluttered, pushing his hair back from his forehead. His white t-shirt clung to his skin, outlining the spaces of his body that he’d been trying to hide.

“Jesus,” Youngjae said, laughing, “you trying to kill yourself?”

“Just wanted to see how long I could hold my breath,” Daehyun gasped, shoulders heaving. They were in the shallow end of the hotel pool, and there were signs posted all around them in Japanese with short translations in Chinese and Korean and English: NO RUNNING, NO DIVING, RETURN TOWELS HERE. He laughed to lighten things up. It’d been a long time since they’d all traveled together like this, and he thought for a second that maybe it had come too soon. A year away, and suddenly they were being plunged right into the thick of it again, schedules and makeup and staffers clawing to get a piece of each of them, passing them around like a shared blunt. They all still felt used, and raw, yet cautiously optimistic.

They were back now. They had a photoshoot in the morning and then it was off to recording the songs Yongguk had been working on, even during their break, because he wanted them to return strong and whole and completely on their own terms. Their leader made TS book them studio space in another _country_ , first thing, so they could record in peace. So they could clear the air. There was staff here, too, but it all felt far enough away to give the guise of privacy and autonomy. They would fine-tune the songs together, go back to Korea with an almost-finished new mini-album, and wait with bated breath to see if TS would act according to their word they’d given them. Daehyun wanted what was best for the group, and he went along with it all.

“You want to go back up yet?” Youngjae asked, swimming a lazy circle around him. The hotel wasn’t too fancy and the pool was crossable in four or five long strokes. Daehyun heard from one of the staffers that someone’s someone at TS had family who ran the hotel group, and B.A.P got a couple of small rooms at a crazy discount. Daehyun didn’t care how much it cost, really, but it mattered that TS was trying to give them the freedom to be creative, to be on their own. This was their first tentative act at trust.

“Not really,” Daehyun said. He cut his hand through the water, through the ripples Youngjae had made. All the lights were off, and the pool was illuminated only by the silver moon shining in through the windows and the street lights reflected off the glass.

“Kimi will be back soon to lock up,” Youngjae said, smirking a little. He’d managed to sweet talk one of the hotel girls into letting them into the pool, after hours. At this time of night, the lobby was staffed by just one tired receptionist wearing too much perfume and rings over all of her knuckles, and she had simply looked the other way when the two boys came down, trailing behind a young Japanese girl who had a ring of keys jingling in her hand.

“I don’t want to go up yet.”

“We’ll come down in the morning to find you here, and you’ll be all wrinkly but bloated, like a drowned old man.”

“That’s disgusting,” Daehyun said, splashing his friend. Youngjae had returned from their hiatus with all the sharpest parts of him glinting out in the open like knives; his cheekbones, his hips, his teeth and sarcasm and wit. Daehyun wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, but they’d all come back changed. Lately, he longed to throw himself at Youngjae to see what parts of him would cut and what it would feel like. He dreamed of it, slicing himself open against Youngjae’s shoulders, bleeding out against his chest. The pain would be good and hot, and he’d wake up with his hand between his legs and bottom lip between his teeth, the shame crawling over him like ants.

Youngjae splashed him back. They play-fought until they were both coughing water out of their lungs, and then they finally climbed out. Daehyun turned when he peeled off his shirt, wringing it out over the tiles and throwing it with a wet splat onto one of the lounges. He toweled off and quickly pulled on another shirt that he’d brought down, dry. He shivered violently when he felt Youngjae’s finger trailing over the side of his ribs.

“You lost weight,” Youngjae stated, nothing malicious about it. In fact, his voice was soft. It made Daehyun uncomfortable.

“You did too,” Daehyun said, nodding over his shoulder at Youngjae’s tiny waist.

“Not that much,” Youngjae said, and Daehyun didn’t have anything to say to that.

It was one in the morning. Daehyun had asked Youngjae to come down with him, to distract him, because he couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t dream. And Youngjae had magicked up Kimi and gotten her to let them in. They had that photoshoot in a couple of hours, and Daehyun wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to follow all those directions the photographer would throw at him, wasn’t sure if he’d be able to manipulate his limbs and his face in all the ways he used to.

Youngjae said, “Are you okay?” and hooked his arm across Daehyun’s shoulders, tucking him against his side. They were both still slightly wet, so they stuck to each other. Youngjae hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt, and his skin glistened in the moonlight, milky. “You’ve been weird this whole trip.”

His arm felt heavy like that giant snake they’d held together when they were in Australia on camera. Its scales had been cool and smooth; thinking about it made Daehyun want to gag. “Just nervous,” he said finally, mouth dry.

.

When Daehyun stopped singing, he felt like he could wink out of existence and no one would notice or care. It was the only thing he knew how to contribute, and without it he felt naked and stripped and useless, and with the hiatus and the lonely nights alone in his hometown, it dawned on him that he was not important. When he stopped singing, a chasm yawned open in his chest, empty space big enough for someone smaller and more perfect to crawl inside. He couldn’t bear being alone. He needed to matter, at least to someone, for any amount of time.

His hometown friends had all grown up when he wasn’t looking, and they were cooler and wiser and did things like go bar-hopping downtown and have bonfire parties on the beach. The only alcohol Daehyun had ever had was one sip of beer when he was seven because his dad wanted to see if he would like it (he didn’t; he remembers the reaction more than the taste -- his father’s huge guffawing laugh seeing the pinched expression on Daehyun’s tiny face), and a shot of soju in the dorm with the rest of B.A.P to celebrate their first win. Himchan had sneaked it in, and they’d poured the soju into regular mugs because they didn’t have any shot glasses, and they’d toasted quietly in Youngjae’s room. Daehyun hadn’t been able to down it in one go. He’d sipped and coughed and sipped again, wondering why the hell people chose to drink this stuff when it tasted like rubbing alcohol.

He remembered the warmth that bloomed in his stomach from it, how just one measly shot brought a pink flush to his cheeks.

His friends invited him out with them, and Daehyun went. The alcohol tasted better this time, sweeter. He decided he liked cocktails and their lip-smacking sticky-sweetness. How the sugar from them coated his lips and tongue. He was buzzing, and the music was loud and vulgar. He went home with someone, a friend of a friend, a guy with a tattoo blazoned over one shoulder and curling over his bicep, and it felt good, mattering to someone again, at least his mouth and hands.

.

The makeup noona was saying something to him in bright, chirpy Japanese. The lights flickered and flashed. Junhong was doing his individual shots, and the guy adjusting the reflector panel kept shining the light in Daehyun’s eyes.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Daehyun sat with his hands over the armrests of the chair, fingers curved over the ends like claws. He’d retained only the most simple of Japanese phrases in their year off, never having need to use it. He tried to piece together something more to say, but the shelves of his brain were dusty.

“Have. You. Been. Sleeping. Well. Lately?” she said slowly, like she was talking to a small child, even tilting her head in the end to indicate a question. She gestured under her own eyes. “Big. Circles. Here.”

Daehyun shook his head, feeling his shoulders hunch reflexively in defense. He knew he looked like shit. Sleep had been evasive and when he did manage it, it was usually because he was so exhausted he simply lost consciousness for a few hours before the cycle started up again. There was a restless, raging energy inside of him beating against his ribcage, anger at himself, for giving in, for returning, for not asking for more. There was fear, too. He’d been a bad boy, naughty, and he was afraid the others would see this on him like a mark on his forehead, a big red ‘X’.

“Still adjusting to the schedule, I guess,” he murmured. He meant to try it in Japanese but it came out in his native tongue, and he offered the makeup noona a wry little smile when she nodded along in confusion.

“He said he is getting used to being back in this life,” Youngjae said in Japanese, sliding into the empty seat next to him. Youngjae’s makeup was finished: his skin was matted to perfection, a natural blush on his cheeks, his jawline only slightly contoured. The thin line of black at his lashes extended out past the corners of his eyes into winged tips, and his lips were glossy. Daehyun couldn’t remember what the concept was even though they’d agreed upon it beforehand and reminded him at least twice. All he knew was that Youngjae looked beautiful. “What?” Youngjae said in Korean, turning to look at him.

“How’s your Japanese still so good?” Daehyun mumbled, trying not to move his lips too much because the makeup noona was now lining his eyes, too. Putting makeup on like this froze his face.

“Unlike some people,” Youngjae explained, “I made use of our break and practiced stuff I thought would be useful when we came back. Japanese. Some Chinese. Chord progressions.”

Daehyun tried to lower his eyes and got a sharp _’tsk!’_ from his makeup noona for daring to move. He readjusted. He didn’t want to tell Youngjae what he had been doing during their hiatus. How easy it was for him to break down without the others, how without a stage to perform on he felt like an empty husk waiting to be picked up by the wind. How he did anything to fill that husk. What a needy, flimsy little thing he was. Even now, thinking about it made his skin flame.

The makeup noona was rooting around for something in her array of makeup pallets and lotions and toners and other tubes. She brought out a little container of liquid mostly clear and tinted a lovely pale pink. She gave him the tube, curled his hand around it. “Rose. Water,” she said, and continued in faster Japanese.

“Soak cotton pads in it, then leave it over your eyes for 15 minutes. She says twice a day is best. It’s supposed to help with dark circles, and also be pretty soothing,” Youngjae said.

“Thank you,” Daehyun said, bowing a little. She blushed and said something that sounded quite cheerful and then walked away. Daehyun turned around in his seat to examine himself in the vanity mirror. The person who blinked back at him felt like a stranger.

“Wow,” Youngjae whistled. “I almost forgot how you looked with makeup on.”

He touched the pads of his fingers to his cheeks and they came away slightly chalky from the foundation over his face. In the mirror, his skin looked too smooth, his lips too red, his eyes too dark, a cartoon version of him, or how he’d look when the mortuary artist was done with him and he was lying in the casket.

“You look good,” Youngjae continued, seeming to sense Daehyun’s need to hear such a thing, but the words rolled off Daehyun’s shoulders and didn’t catch.

“You think so?” he asked. “What do you prefer, me with or without makeup?”

It was a strange question to ask, and he regretted it as soon as the words left his lips, but Youngjae shrugged and gave him a long hard look in the mirror, eyes narrowing, and said finally, “Without,” and that made something in Daehyun’s chest catch like a key slipping into place.

.


	2. Chapter 2

Yongguk was fidgeting on the cable car ride up, his fingers drumming against his thighs and his teeth ravaging his bottom lip. He’d open his mouth to start a sentence and close it, a look on his face like he wasn’t sure if he knew what he was doing. Daehyun watched the cars and people and trees below them grow smaller and smaller, until everything looked like toys. Truthfully, Daehyun was scared of heights like he was scared of everything, but he felt for a moment like he was floating, and the fear stayed lodged away behind a muscle in his belly. He’d feel it later.

“This is good,” Yongguk said, “You and me spending time together. We haven’t seen each other in a while, huh?” Daehyun smiled at him, the kind of smile where he knew his eyes would crinkle and whiskers would form on his cheeks. Yongguk bit his lip harder. He said, “Just a few more weeks, Daehyunnie.”

Their dispute with TS was coming to a close. It was Yongguk who dealt primarily with their lawyers and with TS; over the past few months, whenever they convened a meeting, Daehyun was about as useful and annoying as a fly on the wall, if he made it to the meeting in the first place. It was hard living in another city, away from everyone, but he trusted Yongguk to deal with it. That’s what he told himself.

The cable car jolted to a stop, and people filed out, making the carriage teeter back and forth. There was a tiny gap between the floor of the carriage and the landing of the tower. Daehyun hovered over it, looking at the blocks that were cars. When he took too long, Yongguk took him by the elbow and guided him around the deck to the windows. They had to squeeze their way to the glass, but people were moving all around them, dynamic, flitting from one station to the next. Yongguk and Daehyun stayed at one window, steady like rocks.

“So,” Yongguk said to the glass, “how’ve you been?”

“Good, hyung,” Daehyun answered without really thinking. They were pushed closer together, shoulders touching. He lied; he was tired all the time, no matter how much he slept. He felt like his empty shell was being blown every which way. He couldn’t sing anymore. He couldn’t do anything anymore except be a warm body. “Tired. I’m excited for it all to be over.”

“You mean, for us to start again.”

“That’s what I said.” Daehyun smiled again, knocking shoulders with Yongguk, who chuckled in response.

“It'll be great again, all of us,” Yongguk continued, tone wistful as he looked out over the rolling hills past the outskirts of the city, “we’ll make music that means something, that changes how people think. That changes the world.” 

Daehyun admired the way Yongguk fought for what was right, the way seeking out and installing justice seemed to be part of the way he was wired, like his heart pumped gunmetal and not blood. His profile was distinguished and solid, a figure who belonged etched into a coin. Daehyun had always thought Yongguk was so handsome, and his drive only made him more so. To Yongguk, music was a vehicle through which to create social change. Daehyun just wanted to make music. Good music that you could feel in your chest. Music that made you blush or cry or laugh. Music to fill up that cavity in his chest, tell him how he was supposed to feel. 

“Sure, a revolution,” Daehyun said, teasing only a little.

The tips of Yongguk’s ears turned red and he mumbled, “I got carried away.”

There was a part of the deck where the floor was made of glass tiles, so people could stand there and look down and feel like giants, or like they were flying. They walked over to it and paused. Yongguk stayed where he was at the edge, daring Daehyun to try it because he was too chicken to himself. They were very similar people; it was why they danced around each other so much, sometimes so in tune they seemed to be of the same body, and sometimes so different they exhausted each other trying to keep up. They hurt the same way, too, and when it was like this they couldn't really make it work, like their bodies recognized their confluence would create a massive black hole. Daehyun stepped out over the ledge. Imagined falling. _Splat._ His body on the pavement. He ran back, not quite giggling, a hysterical note to his laughter for having pictured such a thing, and nearly reached out to hold Yongguk’s hand.

They both lowered their hands before they could touch. Yongguk said, “If you need to talk to someone, I'm here.” But he said it without looking at him, and Daehyun knew it meant he was offering the branch but wanted Daehyun to find another tree. Yongguk was already struggling; Daehyun would climb into his boughs and break him.

“Thanks hyung,” he said anyway, since they were doing niceties. He appreciated the effort.

.

The party was going strong, but Daehyun was waning. He felt like he was wading through honey, and he was just as sticky. He didn’t like the tight, acid nervousness of his stomach, every blink of his eyes like the drag of a record skipping. Then he was upstairs. The door was closed. He didn’t so much fall as descend onto the bed. The people there, he couldn’t see any of their faces, like they were all wearing masks, a line of them and they all smelled like something burning. The bed creaked and dipped. They were jealous of him, told him he was pretty and pulled at his clothes.

“Are you sure?” they kept asking. “Is this okay? Is this good for you?” they kept asking, and Daehyun nodded because it all was. One after the other and every time one left they seemed to take a piece of him with them: a fingernail, a chunk of hair, his heart. Someone cupped the front of his pants. Before all this, he was a doll for the stage. Now, he was just a doll.

“Come back,” he said. Please. I don’t like to be alone. He couldn’t say the last bit. Someone had taken his lips. Their faces sharpened into jagged points and dark shadows. Something pricked behind his eyes as their mouths grew and opened wide, and he thought for a wild panicked moment that he was going to be eaten. Consumed. He screamed.

“Dae? Dae? What happened?”

Youngjae was sitting on his bed, hair mussed and eyes narrow slits from sleep. There was a wrinkle embedded in his cheek from the pillowcase. His hand was on Daehyun’s shoulder, and Daehyun shrugged it off; his fingers felt like tiny needles digging into his skin. Rather than be hurt by this, Youngjae leaned closer, over Daehyun’s face, and said again, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Daehyun mumbled, pulling the blanket up over himself, covering up completely. “A dream.”

“Didn’t sound like a dream,” Youngjae said.

Daehyun focused on the fabric of the blanket between his fingers. He imagined he could feel the tiny threads and count the knots. He held the blanket up to muffle whatever noise was about to come out of his mouth, because he thought it might be another scream. His heart was jackhammering in his chest, like it was trying to get out, like it had had enough of him. To his surprise the scream faded from his throat but the feeling stayed and came out instead through his eyes. He was crying fat, rolling tears that seemed to spring from a well deep inside of him. They were unstoppable. He sniffed and his nose was blocked already, snotty and wet.

“What the--” Youngjae started, but he was already fitting himself behind Daehyun’s back, a solid and warm wall. His arm came around to rest on Daehyun’s waist, which seemed to buzz under the pressure. They used to do this when they were trainees, when they missed home too much, but this wasn’t a hometown Daehyun was weeping over. It was something else deeper and more insidious, something broken open and fragile. He thought of himself in elementary school, hungry and small with a voice too big for his body. Maybe that was why he wept. He was hiccuping now, crying like he hadn’t since they parted ways a year ago, lungs caving in on themselves. “I know it’s a lot,” Youngjae whispered, his voice soothing, matching the way his hand ran up and down Daehyun’s side. He nudged closer. “Shh.”

“It’s a lot,” Daehyun managed wetly. His hands hooked over Youngjae’s arm and hugged it close to his chest. He wanted to be coddled. Swaddled, like a newborn, rocked and hushed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Daehyun.”

They fell asleep like that, glued to each other. Youngjae might have hummed a lullaby into his ear.

.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been feeling really weird lately


End file.
